


you're cold as ice but it feels like fire, fire, fire, fire

by procrastinatingbookworm



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Bathing/Washing, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Explicit Orgasm, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Offscreen Consent, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, POV Queer Character, Squirting, Trans, Trans Jonah Magnus, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24301111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: Mordechai treats Jonah to a night of undivided attention... and treats Barnabas to a show.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus, Mordechai Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 15
Kudos: 195
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus, Banned Banned Together Bingo 2020, Banned Together Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

When Mordechai Lukas lays one broad hand on Jonah’s shoulder in the middle of one of Robert Smirke’s parties, this one hosted at Barnabas Bennett’s home, Jonah expects to be kissed.

It’s definitely the moment for it—the business has been discussed, the wine has been opened, and the serious conversations have devolved into groping and kissing.

(They live in a world of monsters and fear gods and powers beyond mortal ken. They have nothing to fear from love or the law.)

Mordechai isn’t much for kissing, or displays of affection at all, but there are exceptions to every rule, and Jonah finds himself being an exception more often than not.

To his disappointment, instead of being kissed, Jonah feels himself being steered out of the room.

“Performance anxiety?” Jonah sneers, more peeved at the manhandling than the possessiveness. Being possessed by Mordechai Lukas is safer than most other places in relation to him.

“I just want your full attention,” Mordechai rumbles.

Something in Jonah’s chest kicks at the sound of that low voice so close to his ear, fear or arousal or something between the two.

Mordechai pushes him to his knees, and Jonah allows it, baring his teeth up at him. 

Jonah tries to keep his expression firm as Mordechai unbuttons his trousers, but he can feel the flush rising to his chest, the widening of his eyes. Kneeling, his face is just as the height of Mordechai’s waist.

Mordechai shoves down his trousers and underwear. His cock is already formidable, before he wraps one huge hand around the base and strokes himself to hardness.

“I’m sure you know what to do now,” Mordechai says, and Jonah swallows, wets his lips, and takes Mordechai’s cock in his mouth.

He’s nearly too big from the start; Jonah feels the twinge at the corners of his lips as he struggles to keep his teeth away.

Mordechai moans, low and sweet, when Jonah slides his tongue along the shaft, and it’s enticing enough that he takes him deeper, deep enough that the head hits the back of his throat, deep enough that his eyes stream with tears and he nearly chokes.

Mordechai grabs Jonah by the hair, and Jonah relaxes his throat, preparing to be dragged further forward onto his cock, but Mordechai pulls him off.

Jonah frowns at the loss, staring up at Mordechai. He’s red-faced, breathing hard, and smiling his dangerous, knife-edged smile.

Jonah opens his mouth to complain, and Mordechai grabs him by the shoulders, hauling him to his feet.

“Upstairs,” he says, not as a request, hauling his trousers up with one hand. 

Jonah feels another thrill of arousal and fear. If it was Mordechai’s house, he wouldn’t think twice, but this isn’t the Moorland House. This is Barnabas’ townhouse.

Barnabas himself is upstairs, having retired early with the excuse of having work to do, and he will certainly hear them from his study, no matter what room they choose. It’s not a large house.

Still, Barnabas has known from the start about Jonah’s proclivities—if he’s jealous, he says nothing about it.

Jonah lets Mordechai lead him up the stairs, even lets himself be led down the hall, but when Mordechai stops in front of Barnabas’ bedroom, he has to speak up.

“Given what you intend to do to me, I don’t think that’s appropriate,” he says, as Mordechai lets go of his shoulder to open the door.

“Is that so?” Mordechai raises one eyebrow, and ushers Jonah inside.

“His study is two doors away,” Jonah hisses, batting at Mordechai’s hands ineffectually as he starts untying Jonah’s cravat.

“You’re certainly familiar with the house,” Mordechai purrs, shoving Jonah’s vest off his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt. 

“He’s my—” Jonah starts, and cuts himself off with a moan when Mordechai bites down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, hard enough that it’s certain to bruise.

“I’m sure he won’t mind.” Mordechai yanks down Jonah’s trousers sharply enough that one of the buttons pops, then his underwear, and presses his fingers against his folds.

Jonah bites his lip against a moan, shrugging the rest of the way out of his shirt and reaching for Mordechai’s collar. 

He’s barely untied Mordechai’s cravat when his knees abruptly turn to jelly. He realizes only a moment later that Mordechai’s slipped a finger into him.

“I see how it is,” Jonah growls, trying to unbutton Mordechai’s shirt with trembling fingers. A game of chicken, then. Jonah will only be allowed to see as much as he can take.

When Mordechai slips another thick finger in alongside the first, Jonah collapses outright. Mordechai catches him around the waist, sliding his fingers in and out minutely.

Jonah whines, trying to push Mordechai’s shirt off his shoulders, and not making it far.

Mordechai rumbles a laugh and pulls his fingers out, holding Jonah upright by one arm and then the other as he takes off his shirt.

“Get on the bed,” he says, when Jonah gets his feet under himself again. “Finger yourself for me.”

Jonah stumbles over, sheds his shoes and stockings, and lays back as requested, slipping a finger into his hole. He’s already starting to breathe heavily, but Mordechai hasn’t asked him to take his corset off, so he leaves it be.

Mordechai undresses, folds his clothes neatly, and finally sits down on the bed. He twirls his finger, gesturing for Jonah to roll over.

Jonah flops on his stomach, only for Mordechai to smack his thigh with a broad palm. “I didn’t say to stop.”

Jonah struggles to his knees as Mordechai starts to unlace the modified corset, sliding first one finger into himself, and then two, scissoring himself open. He doesn’t know if Mordechai plans to fuck him, but he wants to be ready if he does.

Mordechai finishes unlacing the corset and tosses it aside. He grabs Jonah by the hips and flips him onto his back.

Jonah takes his fingers out of himself when Mordechai makes a beckoning gesture, and shuts his eyes against a heady pulse of arousal as Mordechai takes Jonah’s fingers into his mouth, licking the slick from them and sucking them deep, tongue laving around each digit.

His eyes are still shut when Mordechai pulls off his fingers with a pop, arranges Jonah’s arms out of the way, and  _ licks _ him.

Jonah mewls at the sensation of Mordechai’s tongue across his folds, gasping for air despite the fact that his chest is freed from the corset.

He opens his eyes, just in time to slam them shut again as Mordechai’s tongue presses against his cock, flicking back and forth for a moment before pressing down, warm and wet, and sliding up across his folds.

Jonah’s thighs clamp down without him meaning to, and Mordechai shoves them apart again, forcing Jonah down onto the bed as he bears down on him, switching rapidly between short flicks of movement and deep, slow licks, occasionally stopping to suck at Jonah’s cock as though he aims to devour him.

In a moment of sensation so overwhelming that Jonah fails to process it for a long, numb moment, he finds himself grateful that Mordechai cares for his beard. He can feel the brush of hair against his folds, and were it not carefully oiled, he’s sure it would be unpleasant.

Mordechai flicks his tongue again, and Jonah moans, voice pitching up nearly to a shout, at the sensation. He realizes, abruptly, that Barnabas  _ must _ be hearing this—he must  _ know _ . 

He must be listening from his study. Jonah wonders what he’s thinking—is he jealous? Angry? Aroused?

Mordechai’s head turns, and his teeth sink into Jonah’s thigh. Jonah yelps, legs trying to snap closed protectively.

“Am I not keeping you interested enough?” Mordechai asks, and returns to his task without waiting for an answer, licking and sucking at Jonah with seemingly no pause for breath.

Jonah comes hard enough that his vision goes abruptly white, and when he comes to, Mordechai’s tongue is pressed into his hole, licking him clean.

Jonah gasps in pain when Mordechai’s tongue brushes his cock, and Mordechai, surprisingly enough, retreats, sliding his hands up and down Jonah’s thighs, waiting for him to recover.

Mordechai looks painfully hard from where he’s kneeling, but his attention is all on Jonah, hungry and intent, and when Jonah nods, he lowers his head between Jonah’s legs again, licking him in long, broad strokes that leave Jonah squirming.

Jonah’s second orgasm comes quicker than the first, and this time, Mordechai doesn’t relent even for a moment, even when Jonah gasps in pain and tries to press his legs together. Mordechai allows the grip of Jonah’s thighs, but he keeps licking Jonah’s cock, until a flick of his tongue makes Jonah sob audibly.

Jonah watches through a haze of tears as Mordechai lifts his head, looks at Jonah’s face, and lets him breathe for what Jonah would guess is no more than half a minute, before he ducks down again.

Jonah comes a third time, and maybe a fourth, before Mordechai fucks him. He isn’t really paying attention. He can’t hold a thought in his head. Every lick sends waves of sensation through his cock and up his spine, until he’s twitching and crying out with each touch.

Jonah’s head is already spinning by the time Mordechai jostles him from his blissful, overwhelmed haze, repositioning him.

Mordechai strokes himself for a moment, contemplatively, before sliding into Jonah. He fucks him shallow at first, then takes Jonah by the hips and pulls him further onto his cock.

He doesn’t quite sheath himself; Jonah can feel a little distance between his stomach and Mordechai’s, but it’s a near thing.

Jonah tries to push himself upright on his elbows, but Mordecai pushes him back down with an easy strength, sliding in and out of him.

It shouldn’t be appealing, to feel this used. To have Mordechai manhandle him against the bed of another lover, fucking deep into him with no particular tenderness, as though there’s no difference between Jonah’s hole and any other.

And yet, and yet.

And yet Jonah goes pliant, lost to sensation, lost to anything but the way Mordechai moves against him. He can’t think, he doesn’t  _ have _ to think. Nothing matters except the vicious heat of his fourth-maybe-fifth orgasm rising and cresting and crashing over him, leaving him gasping through tears as Mordechai pulls out and spends himself across Jonah’s stomach.

Jonah whines, high-pitched, and Mordechai takes mercy on him, ceasing his ministrations on Jonah’s cock to lick his own come from Jonah’s stomach.

Jonah has barely caught his breath, too busy trying not to cry, when Mordechai sucks his cock into his mouth again, tongue laving across it.

At some point, between flicks of Mordechai’s tongue that send him insensitate with pleasure, Jonah screams.

Faintly, at the edge of his awareness, between pulses of sensation across his cock, he hears footsteps.

Mordechai presses his face deeper between Jonah’s thighs, and Jonah’s head lolls to the side. Through the keyhole, he can see one bright blue eye.

Barnabas. He must have heard Jonah scream and come to ensure he was all right. Jonah smiles at him through the keyhole. He cares so much, he cares so damn much, it’s more than Jonah deserves—

Mordechai’s tongue flicks, just once, against Jonah’s cock, and Jonah’s vision whites out, and he can feel nothing but a rush of damp and warm and  _ good. _

When Jonah resurfaces, Mordechai is watching him from between his thighs, mouth and beard smeared with come. “You made a mess, coming all over me,” he teases, licking his lips.

Jonah blinks, hazily. He feels a tear slide down his cheek. “Didn’t know I could do that.”

Mordechai laughs softly. “I’m going to fuck you again. Then you can go back to your boy, and he’ll put you back together.”

Jonah nods, letting his eyes fall shut again. He lets Mordechai move him. He drifts, pleasantly, on the pain of too much pleasure, as Mordechai uses him, his fingers pressing bruises into Jonah’s hips, until he comes, spilling into Jonah.

The rough pad of a thumb swipes across Jonah’s cheek, and he opens his eyes. Mordechai is leaning over him. Before Jonah can process, Mordechai is lifting Jonah from the bed, setting him on his feet.

“Go on,” he says, when Jonah just stands there.

Jonah stumbles to the door, and before he can reach for the handle, it opens.

Barnabas is standing there, his pupils blown wide in arousal, and Jonah walks straight into his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnabas is never content to just watch, and Jonah will always be insatiable.

Jonah knows, distantly, that he’s being led down the hallway, stumbling over his feet like a newly-born deer. He knows, distantly, that Barnabas is holding him upright with an arm around his waist, and speaking softly to him.

He hears, over the static in his own head, Barnabas calling for a servant to draw a hot bath, but the words disappear into the haze again when Barnabas’ voice softens, his attention back on Jonah. 

He comes back to himself as Barnabas is helping him into the bath, stripping methodically out of his own clothes and getting in with him. He settles behind Jonah, legs on either side of him, Jonah tucked small against his chest.

“Barnabas,” Jonah breathes, his voice rasping and catching in his throat. The water splashes faintly around him—he’s trembling, disturbing the water with his weak shuddering.

“Hello, angel,” Barnabas replies, with easy sweetness. He dips a cloth into the bathwater, wrings it out, and runs it up Jonah’s chest, cleaning away sweat and the sticky traces of Mordechai’s come. 

Jonah lets himself be cleansed, relaxing into Barnabas’ arms, floating in the place beyond pleasure, beyond pain, beyond thought. 

Mordechai’s ministrations had reached deep down inside of him, dragging everything to the surface of his skin, as cleanly as a doctor bleeding out an illness, scrubbing him clean from within.

And Barnabas, sweet, tender Barnabas, wipes it all away, clearing his skin of every trace, reclaiming him.

“Angel,” Barnabas murmurs, jarring Jonah from his thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

Jonah blinks. “What?”

“Jonah,” Barnabas turns Jonah in his arms, cupping his face in his hands, and it’s only when Barnabas thumbs across Jonah’s damp cheek that Jonah realizes he’s crying.

“I shouldn’t have—” Barnabas begins, then cuts himself off, biting his lip. “I regret not stepping in.”

Jonah shakes his head, nosing into Barnabas’ palm. “I’m all right, Barnabas. You needn’t worry.”

“He made you cry,” Barnabas retorts, so softly that it nearly sets Jonah off again.

“Is that honor reserved for you, then?” Jonah teases, kissing Barnabas sweetly. He turns, leaning back against Barnabas’ chest.

“I prefer to see you happy,” Barnabas wets and wrings out the cloth again, wiping the tear-tracks from Jonah’s face. “But I won’t lie to you—you are lovely like this.”

“I would hope,” Jonah murmurs, relaxing into Barnabas’ arms. 

“So vain,” Barnabas teases.

Jonah drifts, soothed, until the cloth slides between his legs, and he comes, instantly, messily, back arching and thighs squeezing together protectively. He sobs, once and then again, before he manages to swallow the sound. 

“Sorry,” Barnabas says, and though Jonah only hears him distantly, vaguely, he could swear Barnabas sounds smug.

“Wretched man.” Jonah gasps, turning his face into Barnabas’ neck.

“I would fuck you right here,” Barnabas whispers. “Only I’m afraid my refractory period isn’t quite as short as yours.”

It takes Jonah a moment to process what Barnabas means, and he moans at the thought.

“Like that, do you?” Barnabas murmurs. “I heard you coming up the stairs, and I thought you might have wanted my company, and then…” he drags his fingers up Jonah’s spine, sending a shudder through him. “You went past the study and into my bedroom.”

Jonah groans, oversensitive and  _ still _ aroused, grinding down onto Barnabas’ thigh. He can feel Barnabas’ cock twitching against his stomach, not quite hard, but aroused. Jonah reaches down through the water, trailing his fingers up and down the shaft.

Barnabas squeezes Jonah’s hips. “I didn’t know what to think, when I heard the two of you. I thought perhaps I should be angry, but you made such lovely noises. I ended up touching myself, through my clothes, unable to focus on anything but you.”

Jonah whines, trying to rut against Barnabas and flinching away from the sensation at the same time. He’s in pain now, he knows that, oversensitive and used up, that the shocks of sensation up his spine aren’t even pleasure anymore, but it’s all the same, at this point.

“I almost came in my trousers when you screamed,” Barnabas tells him, thumbing a tear from Jonah’s cheek. “Every instinct told me to run to you, but I was so…” Barnabas trails off, groaning, as Jonah squeezes his cock. “You’re such a  _ slut _ , Jonah.”

Jonah nods, choking on his breath. He squirms against Barnabas’ thigh, sobbing at the pain and moaning in delight all at once.

“I went to ensure you were all right, of course,” Barnabas says, his voice gone high and reedy. “But I came first, into my hand, thinking of how those pretty noises of yours would sound if you had my fingers in your mouth.”

Jonah guides himself through the cooling water, pressing close to Barnabas, and sinks down onto his hardening cock. It  _ hurts _ , every brush against Jonah’s cock and his oversensitized slit sending a pang through him, but Barnabas moans so sweetly that Jonah can’t resist.

“I could barely see you, through the keyhole, past Mordechai,” Barnabas continues. “But you looked beautiful, and you sounded wonderful, and oh, oh,  _ angel. _ ”

Jonah’s body seizes up. He can’t be sure if he comes or not, only that he clenches down on Barnabas’ cock, and  _ Barnabas _ comes, in a gasping rush, and Jonah’s chest heaves as he struggles to slow his breathing down.

He feels himself being lifted from the bath, settled on the edge, toweled off, but his eyes must be shut, because he doesn’t see any of it happening. He can hear Barnabas cooing to him, brushing tears from his cheeks, wiping him down, avoiding the tender space between his thighs.

Jonah opens his eyes when Barnabas hefts him in his arms and carries him down the hall, back to the bedroom—empty now, Mordechai nowhere in sight.

Barnabas settles Jonah onto the bed, and he lies there without moving.

“Fucked out, aren’t you,” Barnabas teases, and turns, giving the room a once-over. Mordechai’s clothes, like the man himself, are gone, but Jonah’s are still scattered about the room.

Jonah watches through half-lidded eyes as Barnabas picks up Jonah’s clothes from the floor. He lets Barnabas manhandle him into his underwear and shirt, and lets himself be tucked under the covers, pliant and complacent, empty of every sensation but a low ache and a deep satisfaction.

Barnabas kisses his forehead, just as he’s drifting off.

“Goodnight, my angel.”


End file.
